


We lived at the carnival in summer

by Resamille



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Background Shalluratt, Confessions, Fluff, Graduation, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Post-War, Red is a little shit just saying, teeny tiny bit of angst in the form of family drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11464020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: Seven years ago, Lance left to find himself at the Garrison.Six years ago, Blue showed him who he was meant to be.Seven months ago, Voltron won the war.Six months ago, Lance came home.So why does it feel like something's missing?





	We lived at the carnival in summer

**Author's Note:**

> There seems to be a trend with me writing post-war fics. Ohboy.  
> Anyway, I started writing this and then continued writing this under the excuse of "I need to practice writing longer scenes"  
> Title from Nervous by Gavin James.

Lance's body tingles with a sense of anxious elation while he lingers near the wall. The air sings with a hum of tension, the low bustle of excitement in the hearts of students, all fitted with Garrison uniforms, all young and naive and ready to start out in a universe that, thanks to Lance and the other paladins, is welcoming. The war was hard-fought, but they did it. The day is won, Zarkon defeated, and the team is finally, _finally_ home.

Lance feels it in his bones, this longlasting ache that finally is quelled by the scent of impending rainfall and the warmth of the desert sand. Under his chestplate, his heart beats with a sense of familiarity, of contentedness, and of the gentle anticipation of graduation.

Lance's lips slip into an easy smile as he catches sight of Shiro approaching from across the room. He must have sneaked through the back doors somewhere, because only the graduates and special guests—the once-lost students, turned paladins—are supposed to be in the waiting room. Or maybe they let Shiro in anyway, because Shiro is Shiro, and his warmth and character, though worn, is enough to get anyone to open up.

“Congratulations,” Shiro says, offering his hand.

Lance takes it, a grip and motion far too formal for the two of them, and Lance almost breaks out into laughter at the serious expression on Shiro's face.

But he reins it in. “Thank you,” he says with an air of dignity, only barely whimsical.

Shiro snorts, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with a hidden laugh. “You ready?”

“Absolutely not,” Lance replies without any hesitation. Shiro tilts his head towards him, curious. “Do you know how hard I wanted this when I was a kid? Ten-year-old Lance would be crying tears of joy right now.”

“And now?” Shiro asks softly.

Lance shrugs, a little bit like he's brushing Shiro off. “It seems so trivial, now.”

“I'll have to agree with you there,” Shiro admits, glancing around the room. Lance sees his jaw work as he lets his gaze roam over the graduates: overeager and passionate. “What's a degree when you've saved the universe?”

Lance barks out a laugh. “Exactly,” he says, though he can't completely keep the bitterness from his tone. Shiro's eyes snap back to him. Over the years they fought alongside each other, Shiro's learned to recognize the start of one of Lance's moods. “But I'm glad we're being recognized,” Lance adds, carefully deflecting the fact he doesn't know how to feel about being a hero, about being home.

“At least there's this,” Shiro says. “You know you're better than every one of these cadets.”

“They're not cadets anymore,” quips a voice from behind Shiro, making him jump slightly. “Or at least, that's what I seem to remember _someone_ kept insisting the day we graduated.”

Shiro scowls, but it's all in good-nature, and puts his arm around Matt's shoulders despite the teasing. Matt grins up at him, mischief in his eyes, and Shiro sticks his tongue out at him childishly.

“Sorry I'm late,” Matt adds, turning to Lance. “There was a... Complication.”

“You fucker!”

“The complication,” Matt continues, gesturing at the flurry of motion that is Pidge slamming open the door to the waiting room and storming in. The room falls silent in order to stare. “You know? I think I'm gonna go save seats. 'Grats, Lance, havefunbye.”

And with that Matt ducks out from under Shiro's arm and books it for the opposite side of the room, aiming for the side doors. Pidge lets out a battle cry and fires their bayard after him. It slams hard into the metal of the door, closed behind Matt's retreating form only a second before .

“Pidge,” Shiro scolds, ever the team leader.

“You look cute,” Lance offers, as Pidge stomps over, only barely chastised.

They send him a deadly glare.

“Matt braided my hair,” Pidge grumbles at Shiro.

“I see that,” Shiro says calmly, reaching over to pat his fingers over the careful braids running through Pidge's hair, now shoulder-length because they haven't gotten around to cutting it. “Lance is right. It's pretty.”

Pidge scowls. “I'm not cute.”

“The cutest,” Lance says, reaching over to tuck a lock of stray hair behind Pidge's ear.

Pidge tries to bite him.

Lance yelps and yanks his hand back. “Not cute!”

“Where's Hunk?” Pidge asks. “And Keith?”

“Hunk's picking up Allura,” Lance explains, and frowns. “They had a friend date without me yesterday.”

Shiro laughs, and rests a hand on Lance's shoulder. “I think sometimes they need a break from the rest of us.”

“Excuse you,” Lance quips. “Allura just needs a break from you and Matt.”

Shiro shrugs. “You're probably not wrong.”

“I think if Allura wanted a break from you both, she'd just tie you up,” Pidge retorts.

Shiro goes faintly pink, blushing, and it's a look that maybe Lance at one point would have never thought he'd see on Shiro's face. But a lot changes after winning a war and dating an alien and your old crush at the same time in a polyamorous relationship, and really Lance shouldn't be surprised.

Pidge gives Shiro a wicked grin in response to Shiro's scandalized expression. “Yeah, I know way too much about my brother's love life. I know way too much about _your_ love life. Please put a towel under the door next time; they aren't soundproof.”

Lance barks out a laugh, and Shiro rubs a hand over his face, a mixture of amused, mortified, and weary. “Keith is on his way,” Shiro says, as a way of deterring the conversation from remaining focused on him. “He's getting his speeder fixed up.”

“Seriously?” Pidge asks. “Isn't it super outdated now?”

Shiro chuckles. “Yeah, but he wants to stick to it for now. Work his way up to something newer, I suppose. I don't pretend to actually know what goes on in Keith's head.”

“I think it's noble,” Lance says.

Pidge looks at him sideways. “You would.”

Lance frowns, brow furrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Pidge just turns more fully towards him and gives him a knowing smirk.

Lance huffs at them, an annoyed sort of noise, and pointedly ignores the way his heartbeat picks up at the mention of Keith. So instead he reaches for Pidge's hair again. “Let me fix this,” he says, and Pidge glares for a moment before relenting.

The doors open again, another late arrival, and Shiro excuses himself to go greet Hunk and Allura as they slip into the room. Hunk comes over and gives Lance a one-armed hug, because he knows better than to interrupt hair-braiding, and then lingers to chatter while they wait.

“So what did they—sit still, Pidge—decide about your degree, Hunk?”

“Oh!” Hunk says, excited. “They're giving me both! Engineering and fighter pilot.”

Lance is careful to keep his fingers from pulling one Pidge's hair even though he lets out a little excited squeal. “Nice! Buddy, I'm happy for you!”

“It doesn't matter too much anyway,” Pidge says, though their cynical words are contrasted by the gleeful tone underneath their voice. “Our place is out there, anyway.”

Lance hums thoughtfully. “It's a lot less daunting of a thought now, knowing there are people on our side and no evil emperor trying to kill us. Feels a lot less lonely.”

“It _is_ a lot less lonely,” Hunk says. “We can take people up there with us. My parents are... considering.”

“I think it goes without saying Matt's coming next time we take off,” Pidge says. “I'm not sure if I'm even really a driving factor anymore. He and Shiro are so whipped for Allura it's painful to watch.”

“I mean,” Lance says. “Who isn't. Allura is amazing. And could kick my ass. What else is there to look for in a partner.”

“I want them to meet Shay,” Hunk muses softly.

“Your moms would love Shay,” Lance tells him.

“You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Lance confirms. He pats a final lock of hair in place and taps on Pidge's shoulders. “All set, Gremlin. The prettiest cactus flower in the whole desert.”

“Thanks,” Pidge deadpans.

“Alright, cadets, line up!” one of the instructors calls from across the room.

“Where's Keith?” Hunk asks.

Pidge shrugs, though they have the decency to look worried.

Lance bites his lip. “He'll get here,” he says. “He wouldn't ditch.”

Pidge quirks an eyebrow at him, because even Lance isn't exactly completely sure of his own words, but he gives them a little helpless shrug.

“We should get in our places, at least,” Hunk offers. “Right? It'd be easier for Keith to catch up if he can join us?”

“We're at the front,” Pidge reasons. “We can hold up the line if we need to.”

“Pidge we are not ruining graduation for everyone else just for Keith,” Lance says, even as he follows them towards the Garrison employee who called out earlier.

“You'd do it in a heartbeat,” Pidge retorts.

Lance opens his mouth to argue, closes it, and then: “Yeah, you're probably right. I really would. Let me stand in the front.”

Pidge snickers. “The knight in shining armor.”

“I'll have you know I actually did shine my armor, thank you very much,” Lance quips.

They fall silent as they fall in line, cutting to the front of the line as their own special procession, before the graduates. An honorary degree—that's what they're here for. After all they've done, they deserve some sort of tribute, and Lance supposes this is one of the highest accolades they could receive. In reality, it means very little, just a piece of paper and a class ring, in comparison to the years of teamwork and loyalty built between the paladins and the worlds they've saved. But it's something.

Earth still talks about them, despite coming back months ago. Their stories are still met with a sense of awed disbelief, and really, Lance isn't sure they would be believed at all if not for the living proof of Allura and Coran and the lions, and the extensive records they have of their travels courtesy of the Castle-ship. Shiro's arrival and the Garrison's previous sighting of the blue lion when the team first left Earth gave them more credibility here, and it was with the Garrison's help that the world welcomed them home.

And this is part of it.

But Lance knows that Keith never thought of Earth as home.

So maybe... Maybe he really would run away from this, too.

The instructor looks them over with a vague expression. “Weren't there four of you?”

“Keith's on his way,” Hunk is quick to supply.

“We can't wait too long,” says the instructor.

“Please,” Lance says, an edge of pleading to his voice, but before he can get another word out, he hears Pidge let out a squeak from behind him.

“Keith!”

“ _Fuck._ ”

A body barrels into Lance's back and he goes sprawling, shoulder hitting hard against the wall. If he wasn't wearing his armor, he would probably be a lot more pissed about that because _dammit, Keith, that would have hurt_.

“Ow,” Lance tells him pointedly, and then, as he recovers from nearly toppling over completely. “Jesus, you look like shit.”

Keith scowls, breathing hard and hair windswept. He doesn't bother apologizing. At one point in their relationship, there would have been an argument about this. But somewhere along the line, they both just got tired of yelling at each other and eventually mellowed into some sort of partnership. They've come to memorize each other, to know the other without the need for words. At least, that's what Lance would like to think.

Keith straightens, setting his shoulders and taking a deep breath. “Parking's a bitch,” he announces.

“Oh my God,” Lance says, reaching over to try and fix Keith's mop of hair that has somehow remained a persistent mullet over the years. “You're not telling me you drove that thing here.”

Keith's brow furrows under his bangs. Lance feels the movement ghost across his knuckles. “What else was I supposed to do with it? Did you want me to walk?”

Lance just snorts in response. “Do you have something for your hair? This would be a lot easier to hide if it was tied back.”

“No,” Keith says dryly.

“Two seconds of thought,” Lance scolds, “And you could prevent so many fashion disasters.”

Keith looks up at Lance, unimpressed, though there's a tiny upwards quirk to the corner of his mouth that gives away the fact he's trying not to smile.

“Here,” Pidge says, interrupting themselves in their conversation with Hunk to pull one of the braids out and hold out the tie that had held it back. Lance makes a high-pitched screeching noise at them, but they ignore him.

“You look cute,” Keith tells them.

Pidge makes a growling sound, and Lance tries to recover the braid.

“It's fine,” Pidge insists, trying to duck away from his fussing. “Lance, you're worse than Matt.”

“Damn right I am. Matt can't braid for shit,” Lance huffs. But he takes the tie from Pidge and pushes on Keith's shoulders until he turns around. “Please tell me you showered before this.”

Lance can feel the weight of Keith's frown, even if he can't see it. “It's not like I stayed the night in the shack.”

“Did you?” Lance prods, tying Keith's hair back and trying to pat some unruly locks into place.

“No,” Keith says firm. “I had to fly Red over there.”

“So you could fly the hoverbike back,” Lance deadpans. “Turn around.”

Keith obliges, and tilts his chin up in a little act of defiance as if saying _I might look nicer now, but I'm not going to like it_. It makes Lance's heart squeeze with familiarity, with friendship.

“There,” Lance says, tucking a lock of hair behind Keith's ear and then dusting off the shoulders of his armor. “A real supermodel.”

Keith barks out a surprised laugh. “For _what_?”

“I dunno,” Lance says, shrugging. “NASA, maybe.”

Keith snorts.

Lance flicks his gaze over Pidge and Hunk—relatively presentable, though Pidge's hair may or may not be ruined but _fine_ if that's how they want it—and turns to the Garrison instructor. “We're good to go.”

The instructor nods, and then their stern expression slips into something fond. “You kids sure are good friends.”

Lance puts on an easy smile, and ignores the way the patronizing gaze burns into his skin. “Yeah,” he says, lazily throwing an arm over Keith's shoulders and drawing him close. The action makes it feel a little less like he's being talked down to, with the strength in companionship.

“'Kid,'” Keith mutters. The word falls, dead, to the floor, but Lance catches it, barely. Perhaps because he expects it.

Lance tries to keep his smile from turning into something saccharine, and probably fails. “Yeah,” he breathes again. “Fighting in a war together will do that to you.”

“Oh,” the instructor says, properly admonished if the way their gaze falls is any indication. They glance down at their watch. “You know, they probably want you guys out there.”

“Of course,” Lance says easily, and Keith glances up at him, probably catching onto the coolness of his tone. “Sorry for any hold up.”

“No problem,” the instructor replies, and holds the door open for them.

Lance waltzes through, arm still flung around Keith, and leads the group forward. There's some shuffling and waiting around while the stage outside is finally ready, and then the music starts. Lance sets his shoulders—proud, strong, a warrior—and leads the paladins of Voltron out into the hazy sunlight, dulled by cooling storm clouds.

The graduates parade around the audience while their valedictorian—fighter pilot, top of the class, the place Keith would have been, if things were different—holds the Garrison flag high at the front of the procession, but Lance and the others go straight to their seats. They're set a bit off from the graduates seats, close enough to the stage to walk up there without too much trouble, and a separate section from the audience, but not nearly as close as they could be. Part of Lance accepts that the glory shouldn't be taken from the Garrison cadets. It's their day, after all, not Lance's. But another part of him is still bitter, simmers in the fact that the Garrison was too proud to let a bunch of misfits sit on stage.

Drop-out. Anger-issues and impulsiveness turned to instinct and cunning in the paws of a giant lion. Keith settles in his seat next to Lance, an aura of importance surrounding him that is as much his own ability as it is Red's lingering presence. Traitor, kid-genius. Now: soldier, infiltrator, inventor, and a champion for freeing enslaved peoples. Pidge's gaze finds Matt instantly in the crowd, and they send him a small wave. Timid, unambitious, shy. Hunk never let the words get to him, but Lance knew that they hurt because they were meant to. Now, though, he settles in next to Pidge with an air of confidence, of experience, of compassion that no one here could rival.

And Lance? Too loud. At-risk. Fuck-up. Won't amount to anything.

Yeah, well he made something of himself, without the Garrison's help.

So forgive him if he's a little resentful.

Keith leans back, arms crossed, and the shoulder of his armor presses into Lance's.

“This is gonna be boring,” he says.

“We're being recognized,” Lance tells him. “It can't be that bad.”

“I went to Shiro's graduation,” Keith says. “It can be that bad.”

“It can,” Pidge confirms from the other side of Keith. “Matt didn't let me take airhorns to his. So. Can confirm. It's boring.”

Lance perks up, leaning forward to look at Pidge. “Did you bring them this time?”

Pidge scowls. “Lance, I'm not a child.”

“But _airhorns_.”

“Besides,” Pidge continues. “I'm not so conceited I'd do them for myself. Maybe I should have gotten Matt to do it.”

“Shiro wouldn't let him,” Keith reasons.

Hunk leans forward on the other side of Pidge to join the conversation, resting his elbows on his knees. “You totally could have convinced Allura it was a common earth graduation custom and Shiro would have gone along with it.”

“Hunk's right,” Lance says, nodding. “See, this is why they're giving Hunk two degrees. He knows his shit. I'm proud of you, my man.”

“Oh,” Keith says. “Congratulations, Hunk. I hadn't heard.”

Hunk nods sagely. “I am a god among men.”

“An Adonis,” Lance adds. “Every Shay will swoon.”

Hunk's cheeks darken considerably, and he opens his mouth to say something before ducking his head and leaning back in his seat. “Not fair,” he says. “Low blow.”

“It's fine,” Pidge assures him, patting Hunk's shoulder. “Besides, we all know who Lance is swooning over.”

Lance puts his hand up next to his face, turning to block out any sight of Pidge or the others. “I don't know you people.”

Keith snorts, and part of Lance hates the fact he knows exactly what the amused expression on Keith's face looks like even without being able to see him. “Yeah, says the guy in matching outfits with us.”

“He's got you there, Bro,” Hunk says.

“I can walk the stage naked, right?” Lance asks.

“Please do not,” Pidge says instantly.

“I mean, it wouldn't be very novel. We've all seen Lance naked at least once,” Hunk says.

“We have?” Keith squawks, and Lance lowers his hand in favor of drinking in the flustered expression on his face: wide eyed, flushed, vaguely scared. “I think I would remember that,” he squeaks.

“Oh,” says Hunk. “I guess not all of us. You were already in the pod when we had to deal with that laser shot to his ass.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Lance says indignantly. “That wouldn't have happened if _someone—_ ” he looks pointedly at Pidge, “—was better at covering said ass.”

Pidge shrugs, though they do look a little guilty. “It only grazed you.”

“It hurt!” Lance protests, loudly, and then Hunk shushes him before he can go off on Pidge since the ceremony is starting anyway.

Pidge's father steps on stage, and Lance only half pays attention to his speech. He's heard it enough times, practiced and proofed with the paladins in order to avoid getting too morbid without losing too much realism. Normally the Garrison brings back famous graduates, or manages to draw in someone notable in the field with good intentions to give a speech about the hardships of space flight or engineering or the magic of communications, of a globalized galaxy. But this is another honor, some recognition for the man they once called their own and abandoned to the void, as Dr. Holt invites the graduates to explore a universe far vaster than they would have ever imagined.

Far crueler than they ever imagined, too, but Dr. Holt doesn't mention that. It's in the past. They're moving on. Instead, he speaks about mortality, about the fragility of it, and the vast eons for which we are destined, a future which is theirs' for the taking. He talks about living life day by day, and making something of each day—because when he was with the Galra, each day was a gift, each _breath_ was a gift. He tells them of the beauty and glory of space, of the knowledge hidden there in stardust. He reminds them to stop, to remember, to look back where they came from, to gaze upon the light years they have traveled and be grateful, because they never know when the journey ends.

At least, that's Lance's interpretation.

Next the valedictorian walks up to the stage, encouraged by the lingering applause for Dr. Holt. He begins his speech with an air of confidence, but it echoes with a lack of experience. He owns up to it, acknowledges their naivete. Still, Lance finds himself drowning out the noise, because that's what it is. What could one student possibly talk about that Lance hasn't already lived through?

“Hold up,” Lance whispers to Keith, nudging his shoulder.

“What?” Keith hisses.

“Did Shiro make a speech?”

Keith presses his lips together. “...Yeah, he did.”

“What was it about?”

Keith looks away, pointedly ignoring Lance's knee purposefully knocking into his.

“Come on,” Lance edges.

“Me,” Keith finally admits. “About potential. He never said my name, but he told me.”

“Oh my God,” Lance breathes. “That's adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“I'm gonna ask him to find it,” Lance announces, though he makes sure to keep his voice low.

Keith makes a pained noise in the back of his throat. Pidge turns to look at him, eyebrow quirked. “Please no,” he whispers back. “It's embarrassing.”

“ _I'm gonna ask_ ,” Lance says.

“Do not.”

“I don't know what's going on, but do it,” Pidge says, leaning across Keith's lap. “Lance, I support you.”

“Perfect. Pidge, I need you to hack Shiro's old computer.”

“No,” Pidge says instantly. “I did that once and Dad grounded me for a week. Also, Shiro gave me that whole _Disappointed Dad_ look and I couldn't deal.”

“Damn,” Lance huffs, and instinctively pats along his leg for his phone, and then realizes he's in his armor and _dammit no pockets_. “Shit, I don't have my phone.”

“No,” Keith tells him, more a statement of deterring Lance from being Lance than actually responding to anything he's doing.

Lance sees a flicker of movement, and his heart rate spikes as Keith reaches for his hand. Holy shit, holy shit—Keith grabs at Lance's arm and pins it to his thigh, putting enough pressure that Lance lets out a soft squeak.

“The fuck...” And then he realizes.

“ _No_ ,” Keith repeats, holding down Lance's arm more firmly, because that's where the secondary comms are and Shiro's also wearing his armor, so it _should_ work.

“Keith, I need my arm,” Lance tells him seriously.

“No, you can't,” Keith responds.

“Keith.”

“ _Lance_.”

“Keith—”

“—Paladins of Voltron!”

“What,” Lance deadpans.

“Shit,” Keith hisses.

Hunk stands and makes vague shooing motions at them until they rise too.

A ball celebrating a newly formed alliance is one thing—Lance could pull all the stops for that sort of event—but this brings him back to a childhood that was stolen from him. And alongside follows a sort of giddy nervousness that makes his actions fumble just a bit. Besides that, the serious gazes of everyone around them makes Lance wish for something he could sit back and _enjoy_. He wants to watch those around them laugh, smile, relax.

It's one of the least formal shindigs Lance has attended, and yet he feels so constricted. Like he walking in a stranger's shoes. Because the Lance that should have walked the stage a few years back really is a stranger. This Lance is not that one.

“It is our honor,” the master of ceremonies continues. “To recognize the sacrifices made by these brave soldiers. They have surely proven their worth, and we would like to present to them degrees commending their valor and skill.”

Lance wants to be happy about this. He really does.

The master of ceremonies calls his name, and Lance realizes he's walking up on stage on autopilot.

It's a piece of paper.

Why should he care so much?

That's what bothers him.

It's not that the Garrison doesn't understand because that's a futile hope anyway. No one understands except his team. No one's been through what they have. Lance plasters on a smile, shakes the hands of the Garrison leaders as they give him a leather-bound diploma, a small tribute.

No, what makes Lance's gut twist with conflicting emotions is that despite the fact the Garrison should mean nothing to him, it still does. He still cares. After what he's been through, he shouldn't. He doesn't even want to be here. But he does. He cares. He cares. He cares.

He turns to the crowd, still smiling wide. His gaze lingers for a moment, lands softly on Keith. A small smile, quiet and raw, and Lance feels his breath catch in his throat. For a few rapid heartbeats, Lance is frozen, caught in a gaze that's so unwavering in its trust that he can't look away. Keith quirks an eyebrow at him, purses his lips slightly. He tilts his head and the lock of hair Lance had tucked back slips from behind his ear to fall in front of his face.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Lance waves once to the crowd, and scampers off the stage, keeping his gaze forward as Keith passes him after his name is called.

“What was that?” Pidge hisses at Lance.

He tries to brush them off. He throws a half-shrug in response, and settles into his place in front of his chair, standing while he waits for the other paladins to go up.

But when Lance finally lifts his gaze to watch Keith receive his diploma, to watch the red paladin finally become a recognized fighter pilot, he's surprised to find Keith's eyes pinned on him. They aren't concerned, not quite, but rather a mix of kindness and confusion. Keith's brow is furrowed, an expression reminiscent of one he wears when he can't quite figure out a puzzle, or when the Castle's bots learn his fighting pattern and he has to work out a new one to beat them, or when he's trying to understand how people work.

But—they're still here to put on a show—Lance smiles bright at him, pointing at his own face to remind Keith to smile for the crowd. It works, and Keith turns his intense stare from Lance to gaze into the crowd, and the smile he graces them with is like sunshine. Soft, genuine, shy from disuse. But it's real, and Lance can see how much this means to Keith.

It means so much to all of them, and Lance really doesn't understand why.

Watching Keith step off stage, grin still playing on his lips, though, Lance decides maybe he's just thinking too hard. Better to enjoy the moment, he supposes.

Keith reaches his place next to Lance, as Pidge walks up to receive their diploma. Neither of them look away from the green paladin walking towards the stage, but Keith's shoulder presses close to Lance's, anyway. A question, a promise, a comfort. Lance soaks it all in, and, to make room, he lets go of the resentment, the pain, and vows to let today be a good day.

 

Lance is not sulking. He's not. Definitely not.

No, he's definitely enjoying himself, changed out of his paladin armor and sporting a just as blue button-down and some slacks and leaning against the wall while he nurses a glass of champagne. Which, really, he shouldn't be doing if he wants to have a good time, because he could just give up and go join Shiro and Matt in shots and let his thoughts drown in the buzz of alcohol in his veins.

Okay, maybe he's sulking.

He has an arguably valid reason.

“Lance,” Hunk says, a pitch of sing-song to his tone as he draws Lance into a one-armed hug.

Lance slumps against him, taking another forlorn sip from his glass.

“What's up, Buddy?” Hunk asks him, nudging his chin against Lance's forehead.

Lance shrugs, but the movement is mostly swallowed by Hunk's hold on him. His gaze wanders towards where Keith and Allura are engaged in a rather active conversation with some of the recent graduates. Something in him twists darkly, jealously, and Lance forces himself to look away. “Just missing the Valisi parties,” Lance says instead of the truth.

He's mostly sure Hunk can see through him, but apparently he's not in the mood to pry Lance's thoughts from him. “Oh,” Hunk says thoughtfully. “Those were rather nice, weren't they? Good food.”

“Mmhm,” Lance agrees, and takes another drink of champagne. It sparks flavor across his tongue, but nothing compared to the lavish feasts of the Valisi balls. They were far more grandiose than anything Lance has ever seen: rooms decorated with silk and pearls, ribbons of gold and silver twined around each elaborate entrance, the Valisi themselves dressed in gorgeous fabric meant to accentuate the metallic markings on their dark skin.

“That prince took a liking to you,” Hunk muses.

Lance laughs, and the lightheartedness of it surprises him. “Yeah, yeah, he did. That was nice,” Lance remembers. “Elatha was the only one who could keep up with my charm.”

Hunk chuckles, and Lance feels it rumble through his body too, from where he's pressed into Hunk's side. “He was married. Or—whatever it was called.”

“He flirted back,” Lance argues. “It was all in good fun. Nothing was ever gonna happen.”

“I dunno,” Hunk says softly. “If you had stayed longer... Keith was at least pretty convinced you were into him.”

“Keith wouldn't know flirting if it hit him in the face,” Lance deadpans, and then processes. “Wait, what?”

“You seriously never noticed Keith glaring at you guys the entire time we were there?”

Lance pulls back to give Hunk his best half-incredulous, half-offended expression. “Keith hates social events; I thought it was just his face!”

Hunk snorts. “Doesn't look like it's _just his face_ now, huh?”

Lance's gaze immediately snaps to Keith, across the room, as he turns to Allura and laughs freely. Sure, it's been a while since they visited the Valisi, so feasibly, Keith could have just gotten more comfortable with interacting with others. But, then again, this is _Keith_. “I—” Lance starts, and then realizes his mouth has gone very dry and he knocks back the rest of his champagne.

Hunk watches him with something playful in his eyes, and a smile far too knowing to hold good intentions. “I know you've made your decision about going back out there,” Hunk says. “Well, I know you're planning to if you can bring Isabella up with you. I don't know how long it would take to convince your mom, but I think she'll cave. She knows you'll take care of your little sister. But, really Lance, no matter what you choose, I think we both know Keith would follow you if you asked.”

“Um,” Lance says, very intelligently.

Hunk pats his shoulder and looks pointedly across the room. “You just have to actually ask.”

“I'm gonna go grab a new drink,” Lance says in a rush, raising his empty glass to add more credibility to his excuse. He's running away, he knows. Hunk knows that, too, but he lets Lance escape.

Suddenly, shots with Shiro and Matt sounds infinitely better than confronting the reason his cheeks feel like they're on fire.

“Alright,” Matt is saying as Lance carefully inserts himself into the conversation without actually interrupting. “Who would win: Darth Vader or Malcolm Renyolds.”

“Mal,” Lance answers instantly.

Shiro looks at him like he's crazy. “Darth Vader has one, the Force, and two, lasers.”

“Mal's died canonically and come back to life,” Lance points out, waving down the bartender in attempt to acquire something stronger than champagne.

“He was _brought_ back to life,” Shiro says. “There's a difference.”

“You two are glorious nerds,” Matt announces.

“You asked the question!” Lance protests loudly, and then turns to the bartender to calmly order a drink.

Matt shrugs, grinning unapologetically. “That doesn't change anything.”

“How are you?” Allura's gentle voice floats above the chatter of the room as she drapes herself over Matt. It's a flowing movement that leaves her curled around him, arms around his shoulders, and she plants a kiss on his cheek.

Inevitably, Lance finds himself watching Shiro's reaction. After seeing Shiro as a leader—commanding, loyal, powerful—he always thought some of that would play into his relationships also, that there would be some undercurrent of jealousy in his heart. But then again, Lance really needs to learn to stop jumping to conclusions about people, because the expression on Shiro's face is purely fond as he watches Matt turn to press his nose to Allura's cheek in a small gesture of adoration.

Lance leans against the bar, taking a sip from his new drink and savoring the taste of indeterminate alcohol. It might not be flavorful, but at least it's enough to chip away at the walls of his inhibitions. Hunk's advice lingers with him, burning over his skin, and he scowls into his glass. For so long, he and Keith had been teammates, partners, friends, but never...

They had so long to work out whatever sparks of interest bloomed between them in small flames, but for some reason, they never gave the fire enough air to breathe. Lance had long ago accepted that the fluttering of his affection was unrequited, but Hunk seems to think otherwise. It fills Lance with a sort of irrational hope that he wishes so badly to tamper back down into something manageable.

To ask Keith to stay by his side—to remain his partner, his closest friend—would be like tearing open his chest to let Keith reach between his ribs and caress his beating heart. He's scared. He's scared that Keith's hands will turn to claws and twist and tug and hurt. But what's worse, Lance thinks, is for Keith to accept his offer but reject Lance. To have to face the brutal truth that they will never be more than that which they are now.

Allura flits from Matt to Shiro's side, crowding in next to Lance and jostling him enough to tear him from his thoughts. She sends him a barely apologetic smile and then turns to Shiro, hanging off his arm in a flirty little motion that she must have picked up from some girls she saw here on Earth. Without the weight of a war on her shoulders, Allura is lighter, more carefree, and half the time Lance thinks she's going to fly away like a fairy with wings made of laughter.

“Get me a drink,” she tells Shiro, though its more an offer than an order.

“Anything in particular?” Shiro asks, slipping an arm around her waist to pull her against his side more firmly.

“Anything,” Allura answers, and grins up at him, soft and mischievous all at once.

“Matt?” Shiro asks. “Want something?”

“I'm good,” Matt says. He steps towards Shiro and Allura and manages to sneak a kiss from both of them. “I think I'm gonna go find Pidge.”

“They were with Keith last I knew,” Allura says.

“Oh?” Matt hums. “I'll see if I can find them. Come on, Lance.”

Lance starts at the attention, blinking up at Matt from where he'd previously been in a staring contest with the bottom of his glass. “What? Oh, okay. Sure, I guess.”

Matt grabs at him, and Lance has just enough time to put the glass back on the bar before he's being dragged away, through the crowds of Garrison uniforms and formal dresses and celebratory cheers.

“Is there a reason I'm coming along?” Lance tries to ask as Matt weaves through a group of people instead of just... Walking around them.

“Because I didn't want go alone,” Matt replies simply. And, okay, that's fair, but then Matt stops and turns to Lance, gaze uncharacteristically serious. “Besides, when was the last time you talked to Keith?”

Was everyone on his case today? Lance frowns, and tries to remember how many times he's done that today despite the fact he should be _happy_. “Like an hour ago.”

Matt crosses his arms and quirks an eyebrow at Lance.

“What?” Lance bites back. “We talked on our way over here.”

“I mean _really_ talked. You've been with your family the since we got back, right?”

“I've been _busy_ ,” Lance snaps. “I'm playing catch up for nearly six years in as many months. Not to mention trying to get everything settled with Isabella because she wants so badly to follow my footsteps in intergalactic relations and we're trying to see if that's actually possible—”

Matt holds up a hand, and Lance cuts himself off. “You should talk to him,” Matt says. “He's been alone for the most part. He's had some time to think. You have a family to welcome you here, Lance, but for Keith, we are his family. You especially, I think.”

“You think I don't know that?” Lance fires back. “Goddamn, why is everyone trying to talk me into this today? I'm not going to just leave Keith behind. I'm not cutting him out of my life. I just—I don't... Know what to talk to him about.”

Matt looks vaguely surprised. “Did Pidge beat me to this?” he blurts.

Lance glares, and then sighs, deflating. “No. Hunk.”

“Damn,” Matt says. “Anyway. Regardless of who says it, we want you guys to be happy. You two mean a lot to each other. You should stick together.”

“I wasn't planning on just disappearing,” Lance quips, sticking his chin out in a small act of defiance. Now that he does it, he's not really sure who had that habit first—him or Keith—because they've both adopted it.

“And yet, you've gone the past few months with no contact,” Matt points out.

Lance presses his lips together. “We were working things out,” he says, clipped. He was not hiding. He was not running away. He was _not_.

He was. He still is.

“Okay, okay,” Matt says, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Fine, you have your life together. I'm sure that's why you've been pining the entire time I've been around you two. Come on, I still wanna find Pidge.”

Lance debates retorting with some scathing remark, but he really doesn't want to put the effort into being mean, and the better option would be to just slip away from Matt and maybe out of the building and into the cooling night, now clear and twinkling with starlight. But then there's a loud crash from somewhere nearby, and Lance is hurrying after Matt towards the commotion.

“It's fine, really—” Keith is saying, though his voice is tight with frustration.

It takes Lance a moment to dissect the situation, but then his gaze lands on the dark stain spreading across Keith's shirt. Pidge is choking back laughter, and Matt whistles, low and intentional. Pidge catches Lance's eyes and winks, a quick little movement that lets Lance know they planned this. Because they're a devious little shit and Matt is forever their partner in crime, and really, the whole team is probably in on this.

“I'm so sorry,” gushes a recent graduate, frantic.

“It's really nothing,” Keith assures, trying to duck away from concerned fingers.

“I think Shiro has a spare shirt in the car,” Matt states, purposeful, and digs keys out of his pants pocket and shoving them towards Lance. “Why don't you go with Keith, and I'll go tell the others what happened so they don't worry?”

“What about Pidge,” Lance says dryly. “Why doesn't Pidge take him?”

Matt regards him carefully, and then glances around. “Have you seen them?”

Lance levels a glare at Matt, ignoring the way he's been played as a flash of green in the corner of his eye indicates Pidge has made their escape. “You guys are shits,” he says, snatching the keys out of Matt's hands with far more force than necessary.

Keith looks at him with a question in his gaze, obviously wary of Lance's apparent bad mood. God, if only he knew. Lance doubts the team was subtly trying to get Keith to confess his feelings. Nonexistent feelings, probably. “Let's go,” he snaps, and then forces himself to relax because Keith doesn't deserve this and Lance knows it. His heart knows it. “Sorry, let's just... Let's get you changed.”

“Okay,” Keith answers quietly, and follows Lance out of the building in tense silence.

In the parking lot, though, they run into another issue.

“Do you have any idea where Shiro parked?” Keith asks.

“Not at all,” Lance says. “So option one is wander around until we hear the alarm going off.”

Keith looks across the rows of cars, packed from the graduation attendees. “Option two?”

“There really isn't one,” Lance says.

“I don't think you can label something with a one if there isn't a followup.”

“You know what,” Lance quips, though it's playful. “I don't need your sass.”

Keith snorts. “Well, you're getting it anyway.” He bites his lip, and part of Lance is furious because he really shouldn't be tearing up his lips like that. They'd be so much softer, better for kissing, if he didn't worry them. Keith turns to him, catches him staring, and ignores that which they both must know by now. “We could just take off?”

Lance swallows. “Go where?”

Keith shrugs. “If we take my speeder, the wind would dry off my shirt.”

Lance sticks out his tongue in mock distaste. “You'll smell like cheap alcohol.”

Keith turns to him, glaring, but then it breaks into a soft smile. “According to you, that's probably an improvement.”

“Well,” says Lance, swinging Matt's keys around his finger. “It's definitely better than coyote with a hint of sand.”

“Oh my God,” Keith groans.

Lance sends him a shit-eating grin. Trademarked.

Matt's keys go flying.

“Shit!” Lance scrambles after them, and Keith laughs, loud and free.

“Come on, Lance, let's just go.”

Lance straightens and holds the keys up. “Should I...?”

“Nah,” says Keith, stepping close and patting Lance's shoulder before making his way towards the parking lot. “Shiro has a set, I'm sure. It'll be fine.”

Lance falls into step alongside Keith, making their way through rows of parked cars. “Did you really just leave this thing in a parking space?”

“Well, yeah,” Keith huffs. “What else was there to do?”

“How did it fit,” Lance deadpans.

“I told you parking was a bitch,” Keith grumbles.

“I thought you meant, like, there weren't any spaces.”

“That too.”

“Oh my God, you actually did,” Lance says, hurrying ahead to marvel at the way Keith has managed to squeeze his speeder between a dusty pickup and an SUV. “I don't know whether to be embarrassed or impressed.”

“Try 'silent,'” Keith retorts.

Lance sticks his tongue out at him.

Keith does it right back.

Lance pats the front of the speeder, and Keith brushes past him to climb on.

“You coming?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance says, and hops up behind Keith. “I don't know how you ride this after flying Red. I can't think of anything that compares to flying Blue.”

“It doesn't,” Keith hums as he starts the engine. It takes a few tries, but then they're hovering above the ground and Lance is only mildly terrified because the sides of the speeder almost hit the cars on either side. Keith's response is interrupted while he focuses on maneuvering out of the parking space.

“So why?” Lance asks, and reaches forward to curl his fingers around Keith's hips. He could reach back, use the seat to keep himself steady, but... Maybe this is him asking. Maybe this is him finally trying.

Keith doesn't seem to mind, at least, and Lance takes that as some small comfort, despite the fact it only quickens his heartbeat. In fact, Keith leans back slightly, closer to Lance, and talks over his shoulder as he slowly makes his way through the parking lot.

“Because there's something about feeling the wind in your hair and actually having to fight an engine to make it work the way you want.”

“I thought Red was temperamental enough,” says Lance.

Keith shrugs. “We get along. She's a good girl.”

“I swear your lion has a praise kink.”

Keith laughs as he turns onto the road leading out of the Garrison. “I don't know. I don't judge.”

“You know,” Lance says, sobering some. “I am sorry about your shirt.”

Keith shrugs again. “It's not a big deal. And it's not your fault. Not anyone's really.”

“You seemed kind of upset,” Lance points out.

“It was inconvenient. I wanted to stay, I suppose.”

“But we're leaving,” Lance says, and only partially realizes his grip on Keith's hips has tightened.

Keith is silent for a moment. They slow to a stop.

“Yeah,” he says finally, “But you're here.”

“Oh,” Lance breathes. He swallows hard. “Oh,” he says again. Then: “Where are we going?”

He hears Keith breathe in deep. “Does it matter?” he asks, and then throws a wicked grin over his shoulder at Lance. “We're _going_.”

And that's all the warning he gives before the speeder is careening off the road and over the desert sand, throwing up dust in its wake. Lance squeals in surprise and clutches Keith tighter, mostly unintentional. But when he comes back to himself enough to realize what he's doing, he has his arms around Keith's waist, body tucked close and face buried between Keith's shoulder blades to protect it from the wind.

Keith's laugh is warm and carefree, and he tosses his head back to _whoop_ loudly towards the night sky.

Lance finds himself laughing, too—his arms filled with a boy he likes so very much but is too scared to admit that too, his jackrabbit heart pumping double-time from adrenaline and nerves and excitement, and his soul intent on treasuring this moment forever even if Keith is not his to treasure.

 

Lance hates to admit it (not really), but Keith is right: the sting of wind on his face, cold turning his lips numb, is exhilarating. He's not flying, he knows, but it's one thing to have your stomach plummet from acceleration, and another thing entirely to feel it with your whole body. When Keith finally slows to a stop near his desert shack, Lance is dizzy and giddy with the thrill.

“What did I say?” Keith teases, offering his hand to help Lance off. “It's not the same, but it's good, right?”

“Yeah,” Lance breathes, still a bit shell-shocked. He feels like a live wire, ready to spark at any moment, and when he places his hand in Keith's to steady his descent, electricity shoots over his skin.

“Don't tell Red that,” Keith says, smiling, and his palm is warm against Lance's where it lingers for a moment too long. “Let me... Uh, clean up and change, I guess, and then we can... do something?”

“Something is very vague,” Lance says, letting Keith lead them into the shack.

Keith makes a huffing noise. “You're vague,” he retorts as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Red, you here, girl?”

Lance lingers just inside the doorway while a pile of blankets on the bed moves of its own accord. A black-tinted nose eventually pokes its way out from underneath, followed by an ear and half of a face of a red-furred lioness. They're like witches' familiars, Lance always thinks, the way their lions transform to something more fitting of their world when there's no need to be big and scary and metal.

“You had the whole mystery vibe going for like two years,” Lance tells Keith, and turns his gaze from Red, who makes a point of licking her paw, to her paladin. “You're one to—”

The words die in his throat, caught, when Keith tugs his shirt off and turns to Lance, eyebrow quirked. It's not like Lance _hasn't_ seen Keith practically naked before, but there's something in the way Keith holds himself: confident in his body, but unsure in his actions. It makes Lance lose himself in the expanse of pale skin, drinking in what he can because this might be his last chance. Then again, maybe it's the adrenaline still flowing in his veins from the trip over here.

Either way, the tension in the air is thick enough to taste. At least, until Keith turns away, cheeks dusted pink, and mutters, “I missed you.”

“I'm sorry,” Lance blurts.

Keith turns back to him with surprise in his expression, and maybe a little hint of horror, clutching a t-shirt in his hands. “What?”

“I think the shirt thing was on purpose,” Lance says in a rush. “I—the team—everyone's been trying to get me to talk to you.”

Keith's brow furrows, though he looks marginally relieved until his expression is hidden under the t-shirt as he pulls it on. “What about?” he asks through the fabric.

Lance bites his lip and decides he doesn't want to answer. “I'm sorry about you missing me,” Lance says instead. “I didn't mean to disappear so much... but, family, y'know?”

“Not really, no,” Keith replies, now pulling his hair free of the tie Lance had put in earlier. “But it's my fault, too. I, uh... I didn't want to interrupt whatever you have going on so... I didn't reach out, either.”

Red makes a grumbling noise and rolls over on the bed, splaying on her back over the blankets.

Keith turns to her and frowns. “No, bad. We need those.”

“We do?” Lance asks, grateful for the distraction.

Red snorts in response.

Keith walks over and tries to tug the blankets out from under her, but Red rolls over, a playful growl in his chest, and slams her paws down on top of the fabric in a motion of _mine_.

“No,” Keith tells her, and the two then proceed to have a glaring contest that probably consists of telepathic communication because _magic lions_. (In Blue's thoughts: _why bother meowing for food when I can just ask_? Which she then proceeds to do, incessantly, and Lance isn't sure which is worse.)

Finally, Red snorts in Keith's face. Keith cheeks go faintly pink, and then Red pointedly turns around, sitting so that she can't see Keith. But at least she's off the blankets, now, and Keith can gather them into his arms.

“She's gotten lazy,” Lance says, and then watches Red's tail flick unhappily on the bed.

“I wouldn't say that within earshot,” Keith mutters as he ducks past Lance back outside. “Come on.”

“Do I get a say in what we're doing?” Lance asks as he follows.

“No.”

They don't go far, anyway, only to the nearest sand dune with a decent slope to it. And then Keith dumps all but one blanket into Lance's hands and lays the one he keeps out across the ground.

“You're never going to get the sand out of that,” Lance says, passing Keith another blanket to lay out.

“There's sand on _everything_ in the shack,” Keith returns. “Especially Red. She tracks it everywhere.”

Lance snorts. “And here I thought Blue leaving footprints in the house was bad.”

Keith plops down on the blankets, laying back. Lance lifts the ones in his hands pointedly.

“In case it gets too cold,” Keith explains.

Lance shrugs, dropping the blankets in a pile and flopping down next to Keith.

“You know,” Keith starts, and when Lance glances over at him, he's staring at the stars, bottom lip worried between his teeth. “I didn't see your family at the graduation.”

Lance turns to look at the sky. “I didn't tell them,” he admits.

“Why not?” Keith asks, sounding surprised.

Lance makes a little helpless noise. “I don't... I don't know, really. I didn't want to make a big deal about it. I've already been the 'big deal' for the past six months. I don't need any more of the spotlight.”

“Lance,” Keith says seriously, and props up on his elbow to look at him. Lance continues staring forward, but he can see Keith's concerned expression in the corner of his eye. “You've been missing for six years. I'm sure your family wants you in the spotlight.”

“It's not...” Lance says, and then trails off, because he doesn't really know what to say. He missed them. He missed them so much that it hurt to breathe. And now that he's back... He misses flying. How is he supposed to reconcile that?

“Is this what the team wanted you to tell me about?” Keith presses.

“No,” Lance throws an arm over his eyes. “Yes. Kind of.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith says, strained. Then, pleading: “Talk to me.”

Lance sighs, and then lets his arm drop down to the blanket. He finds himself looking up into Keith's eyes instead of the stars, because Keith is leaning over him, gaze narrowed in speculation. Lance's breath catches for a moment, and then he gently pushes at Keith's shoulder to get him to move away because how is he supposed to talk when he keeps getting distracted.

Sitting up and leaning back on his hands, Lance takes a deep breath. He looks at the stars again, then decides it's easier if he just closes his eyes, so he does that. Or maybe he should watch Keith's reaction. Too late, because the words are already tumbling from his lips before he meant them to, because that's what always happens. It's what's gotten him and Keith in trouble countless times.

“I don't know if you found out from anyone else, but... I'm leaving. Allura... Allura offered to take me with her, back out into space to help with foreign relations. My little sister wants to come with me, so I've...” Lance feels a laugh, bitter, bubble up from his chest. “I've been hiding behind her excitement, trying to push to my mom that it would be a great experience for her. But in reality, I just... I need to get back out there.

“And it makes no fucking sense because I mourned so much for them and I felt so much but now as soon as I have them back I can't wait to leave. And I hate myself for it, but I have to admit it's true.”

There's a brush of movement over Lance's cheek, and Lance starts, eyes flying open. He expected Keith's hand to be there, for some reason, in a gesture of comfort, but no, he realizes there are tears slipping over his skin. “God, this is dumb,” Lance sniffles, and wipes at the tears with the back of his hand.

“It's not dumb,” Keith says softly, still serious. “I miss it, too. Flying. But you have so much more for you here,” he continues. “Your family—I can't—Lance, I can't imagine how torn you are. There's nothing keeping me here, but you have a real life here. You have people who care for you here.”

“So do you,” Lance whispers, drawing his legs to his chest to hug his knees.

“It's not the same,” Keith says. “And... I don't... I'm not sure what to tell you. I'm the last person who knows what it's like for you. I'm sorry. I don't know the answer, either.”

“I already know the answer,” Lance says to the ground. “I've already decided I'm leaving. I'm just too scared to be that selfish.”

“Why is it selfish?” Keith asks. He hesitates for a moment. “Your family should support you no matter what you choose. That's what family is for, right?”

And it might be more comforting, except that Keith's question is an honest inquiry. Because family, to Keith, is something foreign. He doesn't actually know the answer. He's waiting for Lance's confirmation, body turned towards him with attention and care, and Lance's heart _aches_.

“Yes,” Lance breathes, and his eyes burn with the tears he's holding back. Keith doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve Lance dodging around the fact that Keith is family, too. That leaving Earth isn't just leaving his family behind—it's leaving Keith behind. But Lance doesn't want to be so selfish as to ask Keith to abandon whatever life he wants to build here just to chase Lance through the stars.

 _Keith would follow you if you asked_ , Hunk had said. Doesn't Keith deserve to make the choice, rather than have Lance abandon him? Doesn't he deserve to know, rather than deal with the fallout when Lance runs away like he has been the past six months, hiding from the team, from Keith, from his emotions?

And then Keith's fingertips are brushing over Lance's where they curl around his knees, and something clicks into place. And everything that Lance had been holding in falls together, falls apart, and he feels his heart give in to that which he's always wanted.

It's a quick movement, quiet but sure, when Lance's hand latches onto Keith's, threading their fingers together with intent, and Lance shifts so he can turn more fully towards Keith.

Keith takes in a sharp inhale, staring with wide eyes at their clasped hands between them. Lance's heart hammers against his ribs, and Keith's gaze flicks up to him. He blinks, once, slow and careful and thoughtful, and Keith breathes out, slow and careful and thoughtful.

“You...” Keith whispers. “I—”

“Yes,” Lance says, choked, and that's all they need.

Keith squeezes Lance's fingers between his, brings their hands up to his lips, eyes lidded, and brushes his lips over the knuckles of Lance's hand, so, so light that Lance thinks he might have imagined it. Keith's breath fans over his skin, and the words he speaks are painted there with intimacy. “Do you know how long I've wanted this?”

Lance swallows, licks dry lips to try and make himself function. “You never said anything?” he whispers. “You're always so blunt, and you never said anything.”

“We were in the middle of a war,” Keith says. “I didn't want to promise myself to you when I couldn't even promise myself tomorrow.”

“Dummy,” Lance says affectionately, and tucks a lock of Keith's hair behind his ear with his free hand. “As if me not knowing if you felt the same could stop me from falling in—for you.”

“Does it matter, now?” Keith asks, untangling their fingers so that he can press his cheek into Lance's palm.

“I guess not,” Lance breathes, and uses the hand Keith put against his own cheek to draw him closer. “The team,” Lance blurts, and Keith looks at him with unwavering faith. “They wanted me to ask you about coming with me. Hunk said you'd follow me anywhere if I asked, but I—I want you to be sure. I want it to be your decision. I want you to be happy.”

“I want to go,” Keith says instantly. “I miss flying, too.”

“You don't have to decide now,” Lance tells him carefully, searching his gaze.

Keith matches his stare. “I want to go,” Keith repeats, certain. “Is that so hard for you to believe?”

Lance blinks back. “Yes,” he admits in a whisper.

“Why?” Keith asks, and Lance realizes belatedly that he has been getting closer as they talk.

“Because,” Lance says, and hesitates. “Because I'm not worth it.”

Keith suddenly looks pained, and he reaches up to grab Lance's cheeks, holding him in place. “Lance,” he says, deadly serious. “You have always been worth it.”

And then he brushes his lips over Lance's with the same gentleness that had caressed his knuckles. It's so unlike Keith, this meticulous caution, and part of Lance hopes that maybe, maybe, he's the first thing Keith has wanted to treat with such care. He asks as much against Keith's lips, breathless between kisses.

“Yes,” Keith breathes. He coaxes Lance into laying back so that he can brace himself above Lance and kiss him endlessly. “Yes, yes, yes,” he says, on repeat.

“You're serious?” Lance asks, gasping for air, as Keith breaks off to gaze down at him.

“You—” Keith starts, and then pauses to catch his breath. He takes the moment to readjust himself so that he's tucked against Lance's side, bodies pressed together in one seam while Keith rests his head on Lance's shoulder. “Your family ties you to Earth. Voltron ties you to space. Shiro ties me to Earth, but he has his own life too, one that I am a far less integral part of. The only true tie I have left is you.”

“Is that what you want?” Lance asks.

“Yes,” Keith tells him, and stretches up to kiss Lance's cheek. “There is no one else I'd rather venture into space with. Partners, right?”

Lance grins, despite himself, despite the fact he can't believe this has happened. “Yeah, partners.”

Keith hums contentedly.

“Fuck,” Lance groans suddenly, and Keith starts, instantly worried. “I was supposed to get a ride back with Shiro.”

“I have Red,” Keith says, sitting up. “Or... You could stay here.”

Lance sends him a small smile. He sits up next to Keith and rests his forehead on Keith's. “I thought you said everything had sand on it.”

Keith snorts and pushes Lance, laughing, away. Lance grabs at him, pulling Keith down too, and they both flop unceremoniously back on the blankets, Keith trapped in Lance's arms.

“I win,” Lance says.

“I know three ways off the top of my head to kill you right now,” Keith deadpans.

“I'm sure you do,” Lance says. “But you wouldn't.”

“You're right,” Keith says. “I wouldn't.”

“God, you're sappy,” Lance tells him. Keith scowls. Lance grins. “I'll stay.”

“Good,” Keith replies, and rolls them both so they're on their sides. “But lets stay out here for a bit? I miss the stars.”

“We'll have too much of them soon enough.” Lance leans forward to kiss Keith's nose. “But sure.”

“Pass me a blanket, though. I'm cold.”

Lance reaches blindly behind him and flings one of the blankets over them both. It's wadded up and takes Keith a few determined kicks before it's anywhere close to properly spread over them, but soon enough they're covered. Keith only almost kicks Lance twice, so it's overall successful.

But then a looming figure casts a shadow over their faces, and Lance looks up to find Red glaring down at him. He sticks his tongue out at her, and then the lioness proceeds to step over him and settle herself right between Keith and Lance.

Keith, from the other side of Red, is laughing. “I don't think she approves.”

“I don't know _why_ ,” Lance huffs, trying to tug his arm out from under Red's body where it's trapped. “I've never done anything to you,” he tells her.

Red flicks him in the face with her tail. Keith laughs as he splutters.

“She's stubborn,” Keith says. “She won't move. Does this to me, too.”

Lance makes a grumbling noise in response, but accepts his fate. And if he ends up cuddling with a magical lion and Keith in the desert under a sky of stars, he's not exactly one to complain. Blue will be jealous later, when she scents Red on him, but not too jealous, Lance knows. Because this is Red, and Blue likes Red, and maybe, he realizes, there's a reason for that.

“Hey Keith,” he says, in a vague haze of half-consciousness. They've both gone silent, lulled by the rhythm of Red's breathing. “You should come stay with me. With my family. Less sand.”

Keith chuckles, slow and sleepy. “Okay,” he murmurs. “That sounds nice.”

 

Keith is an instant addition to Lance's family. He's welcomed with open arms. They spend the day helping Lance's mom make empanadas, and Caterina takes an instant liking to Keith. Lance's older sister perches on the kitchen counter and proceeds to be decidedly unhelpful but amusing if nothing else. She's willing to retell countless stories of Lance's childhood, and overall, Lance kinda regrets inviting Keith to stay with them because he didn't ask for this sort of punishment.

In exchange, Keith tells Caterina and his mom tales of Lance while they were in space. There are some parts that Keith carefully leaves out—that Lance has come so close to death that he's felt the chill of his fingers ready to take him—but his deadpan honesty is something Lance's family probably appreciates. Lance himself has never been very forthcoming about the man he's turned into over the course of the war, mostly because he's not sure if even he likes who that man is.

But the stories told with Keith's words are kind, brave, probably embarrassing, like that one time Lance got stuck to a tree.

At some point, Blue pads silently into the room and tries to steal an empanada from the counter. Lance's mom has to bat her away with a spoon until she relents and goes to pout by resting her head over Keith's leg where he sits at the kitchen table.

“Hey, Blue,” he says, ruffling her ears in friendly greeting. “Red's outside, you know,” he tells her. “Maybe you can convince her to take a bath.”

“Don't encourage her,” Lance scolds him. “Last time she went swimming, she left a giant wet spot on the couch and _guess who had to mop up after her_.”

If a lioness could look smug, Blue did, right then, as she looked up at Lance, still resting her chin on Keith's leg.

“Holy shit, Mom!” comes a muffled scream from outside, and then the door flies open and Jonathon is flying through, tossing his backpack at the counter as he barrels in. “Mom, there's a giant lion outside! Like Lance's but Red!”

“I'm aware,” Lance's mother patiently tells her youngest child.

Blue takes her leave and slips out the open door.

“Hi, Blue,” coos a voice, and Lance catches a glimpse of Isabella giving his lion a few pats on her way by. She steps in the door, and Lance sees the way she takes in the scene instantly, gaze falling last on Keith. “You must be the red paladin,” Isabella says, and then sticks her hand out.

Keith shuffles to stand, obviously feeling awkward being the only one sitting (excluding Caterina, but she doesn't count because she's on the same level as everyone else when perched on the countertop). He shakes Isabella's hand with a sort of stiffness that has Lance cackling.

“Come here, Mullet” Lance says, reaching for him, “Before you hurt yourself looking so out of place.”

“It's not a mullet,” Isabella says, head tilted curiously. Keith makes his way over, ignoring Jonathon's wide-eyed stare, and slips close to Lance, leaning against the counter between him and Caterina.

Lance points at her accusingly. “My boyfriend, you don't get a say.”

“ _Boyfriend_ ,” Lance's mom echoes.

Lance clears his throat and tries to appear innocent. “Did I not mention that?”

“No,” says Caterina. “You didn't.”

“Oops,” Lance says. “Anyway, Izzy, no scaring the guests.”

“I'm practicing!” Isabella protests.

“Who are you?” asks Jonathon, finally finding his voice.

“Didn't you hear,” teases Isabella, easily the mouthiest of Lance's siblings. “He's Lance's _boyfriend_.”

“Do you fly the lion outside?” Jonathon presses, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Yeah,” Keith answers, brightening a little with a chance to boast about Red. “I'm her pilot. My name is Keith.”

“Can you show us?”

“Uh...” Keith says, and looks to Lance.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Later,” he tells Jonathon. “We just got here.”

Lance's mom turns to Isabella. “You said you were practicing.”

Isabella seems to deflate somewhat, but her voice is still strong when she says, “For being a diplomat.”

“You know we haven't decided on that,” Caterina says around a mouthful of empanada.

Lance squawks indignantly at her when he realizes. “You have no right to those! You didn't help at all!”

“Caterina is right,” Lance's mother says. “I wouldn't get your hopes up.”

Isabella huffs. It's a touchy subject, Lance knows, because it's been touchy with him, too. He wants to bring Isabella out there. He also knows first hand how dangerous it is. In the same vein, he's saved the damn universe. If anyone can keep Isabella safe in space, he can. And he knows the fear his mother has—that she lost him once. She won't stop him from leaving, but she can't bear to lose another child.

“Fine,” Isabella says into the silence, readjusting her backpack on her shoulder and turning to stalk deeper into the house. “I'll be upstairs.”

“I have work,” Caterina says, hopping off the counter and stuffing the last of an empanada in her mouth. “See you lafer.”

“Don't talk with your mouth full!” Lance calls after her.

Caterina waves a hand dismissively at him, because she's an adult and won't give Lance the finger while their mom is in the room, but Lance knows that's what she means. He glares after her, and then resolves himself to the conversation he needs to have with his mom.

“Isabella really wants to go,” he says softly, crossing his arms.

“I wanna go!” Jonathon chirps. “It's not fair that Izzy gets to!”

“Maybe when your older,” Lance tells him.

“I wanna be like you!” he announces, and Lance can't help the way he flinches.

“Go upstairs and start on your homework,” Lance's mom tells him.

Jonathon pouts, but starts towards his backpack. Then he freezes. “Can I have an empanada?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance says, plucking one off the plate and handing it to him. Then another. “Take one to Izzy.”

“Okay,” Jonathon says, juggling his backpack and two empanadas as he leaves the room.

“Actually take it to her,” Lance calls after his retreating figure. “Don't eat it!”

Jonathon makes a vague noise of acknowledgment.

“I'm aware of what Isabella wants,” Lance's mom says, turning to face him. “I am aware of what you want, Lance.”

“Then what's the issue?” Lance asks. He tries to keep his voice from cracking, and fails. “Do you not trust me?”

“Lance, you're not a parent, you don't know—”

“I practically raised her,” Lance says, low and vehement.

“It's been seven years since you spent time with Isabella,” Lance's mom says calmly, used to his fluctuating emotions. “You don't know her.”

Lance's hands ball into fists. “I've been gone for seven years,” he says. “You don't know _me_.”

Lance's mom raises her eyebrows. “You're still my son.”

“Then the only valid reason you have for saying no is that you never thought I was capable enough to handle myself when I left for the Garrison,” Lance spits. His shoulders are tense, and he forces himself to relax.

The ghost of pressure on his back makes him start.

“Sorry,” Keith breathes, and Lance had forgotten he was there. “Should I... uh, leave?”

Lance takes in a careful breath, brushing a hand along Keith's arm. “No, it's... I'm sorry. We'll talk about this later,” Lance says, curling his fingers between Keith's.

“No,” says Lance's mom. “You started this conversation, and we are going to finish it. Keith.”

Keith looks surprised to be addressed, but his shoulders set back as if called to attention. “Yes?”

“Would you trust my son with the life of a child?”

Keith is poised to speak, but he hesitates, and Lance groans. “Is this necessary?”

“You say I don't know you,” his mother explains with a hint of ice. “But I presume your team does. So? Your silence doesn't bode well for your answer.”

“With all due respect,” Keith says, very carefully. “Isabella is not a child. We were about a year older than her when we became soldiers.”

“And we ended a war,” Lance adds, squeezing Keith's hand.

“You—” Lance's mother starts, but then Keith interrupts.

“Look, I don't pretend to know about family. Or know about you or Isabella, but I know Lance. He's strong and intelligent and loyal. If you think he can't do anything, he'll prove you wrong. I'd know because he always proved me wrong. I trust him with my life.”

Lance's mom is silent for a moment, lips pressed together in a thin line and gaze calculating.

“Mom—” Lance starts, and she holds up a hand to silence him.

“You're going with him, then?” she asks Keith.

“Yes,” Keith says, and Lance's heart squeezes. He says it as if it's written in stone, not a decision made less than 24 hours before. “We're partners.”

Lance's mom looks thoughtful for a moment, then takes in a deep breath. “If you both are with her... We'll see.”

“Yes!” cheers a voice from around the corner.

“Isabella,” Lance's mom scolds, and Isabella, chastised, emerges in the doorway.

“I came to get water,” Isabella says softly. “I couldn't _not_ listen. You finally were getting somewhere!”

Lance feels himself flood with a sort of giddy excitement, because his little sister is right. His mother has never given this much leverage. Before it was a hard _no_ even with the thought-out arguments from Lance and Isabella. “Isabella,” he says. “Do you know what rule one of diplomacy is?”

Isabella winces. “Don't eavesdrop?” she guesses.

“No,” says Lance. “Don't get _caught_.”

 

“Thank you,” Lance breathes, later that night.

Keith is curled between Lance and the wall, squished together on Lance's twin-sized bed under glow-in-the-dark stars from his childhood. They're nothing compared to the real thing, but Lance's body hums with the idea of _soon_. Soon he'll be back where he belongs, in stardust, with Keith and Isabella by his side. His own little family, a part of each of the families he currently calls his.

“I didn't do anything,” Keith whispers back, nuzzling his face into the crook of Lance's shoulder. His breath fans across Lance's bare skin.

“You did everything,” Lance tells him, pressing kisses into Keith's damp bangs. He smells like Lance's shampoo. “I wasn't scared this time.”

“I just told the truth,” Keith murmurs.

“I don't deserve you,” Lance says.

“You deserve so much more.”

Lance laughs, a bit incredulous. “God—I... Fuck it, why hide it. I've been waiting too long for this,” Lance mumbles to Keith's hair. “I love you, Keith.”

Because why bother pretending otherwise when it's the truth? Surprisingly, Lance isn't nervous at all as he admits it. He's not worried about scaring Keith off, because they've worked through their worst arguments when they met. They have experience dealing with each other, so why should this be any different? If Keith kicks Lance out of his own bed, then they'll work through it. If Lance has waited six years to admit his feelings to Keith, he can wait until Keith comes around.

But instead, Keith just hums a happy little noise into Lance's shoulder. “Love you, too,” he says softly, and then his lips brush over the pulse point on Lance's neck.

“Now,” Keith continues, and his hand splays wildly over Lance's face, making him flail and splutter. “Go the fuck to sleep, Lance.”

Lance huffs at him, but curls his arms tighter around Keith, drawing him close. For the first time since the war ended, Lance's heart is at peace, and he lets that knowledge and the sound of Keith's breathing carry him to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a lowkey prequel to In Your Eyes I'm Holding Mine?? Maybe?? Obviously I have a lot of headcanons about Lance and his family and what happened post-war, and I like exploring those, just not necessarily in coherent sequels. So it's kinda a prequel, except the timeline is different in the amount of time Lance and Keith have been together and when they won the war and that sort of thing.  
> Come scream at me on tumblr if you're down @ resamille.


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